


Keeping Score Interlude:  Blame and Guilt

by WinterDusk



Series: Have Tesseract, Will Travel [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Female!Loki - Freeform, Gen, Multiverse Travel, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 01:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterDusk/pseuds/WinterDusk
Summary: Loki had thought she’d grown out of blaming Thor.  Evidently not.This is a short interlude to “Keeping Score” and will not make sense without reading that.Minor warnings for Endgame spoilers and gender identity.





	Keeping Score Interlude:  Blame and Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Because I couldn’t resist writing it…

Loki is furious, though it’s hard to determine who _exactly_ she is furious with. With this frustratingly real replica of her childhood sibling, certainly. Calling her brother a _coward_? This _boy_ hasn’t the faintest idea of the universe that exists and the dark truths it conceals!

But to blame Thor for being Thor is no more and no less than she has done throughout the entire span of their lives. She’s raged at him for being brash on a seemingly infinite number of occasions, and her indignation is worn smooth with familiarity.

Worn smooth or not, stalking Thor – young Thor – into the training grounds, she takes great satisfaction in slamming the immense doors behind them. _This_ match she’ll have in privacy!

“ _Out!_ ” This to a group of practicing youths, who take one look at her face and flee. What _wonderful_ guards they’ll make one day!

Snarling that single word has torn Loki’s throat raw. For maybe she’s angry and punishing herself as well. For pushing Thor – _her_ Thor, her fragile, broken, fighting-to-heal brother – into this realm and this position. She _knows_ what Asgard was like. More to the point, she knows how Thor feels about its loss. Yet _still_ she-

Of course, she's annoyed with her Thor too. For being shaken and thrown. For needing _her_ to be the one to step up and guard their honour in this realm. For making her realise exactly how unthinkable it is to her that their honour _not_ be guarded – and thence how clearly influenced she still is by their _father’s_ logic.

Why couldn’t her Thor, upon return to Asgard, have been lit with battle-brightness and the desire to beat fools bloody?

But that last’s a gentle type of annoyance; not one she’d ever inflict upon her brother. Not when all she longs to do is see him at peace once more.

Yet for all that fondness mellowing her and for all that she’d never loose this uncalled for, undeserved, frustration upon Thor, it leaves her near-shaking with the effort of holding it in. To see him struggling where once he was-

Now here he is again: tall, and cocky, and not even bothering to reach for a weapon for all that he’s grievously insulted her kin. Thor as once he was. And thus, thankfully, Loki has an _infinitely_ perfect target to vent her rage upon.

#

Thor’s followed furious women onto sparring grounds before. Well, to be accurate, he’s followed one furious woman.

It’s always awkward trying to determine just how far he can pull his punches before he offends Sif’s dignity. He can’t even continence finding the correct level of force to level against this herb-maiden; a woman who’s taken his own mother’s name in the manner of those with no kin left alive and willing to claim them.

Maybe her brother will come to his senses and intercede, as is only proper and-

Thor finds himself spitting up blood.

Shocked, it takes him a moment to locate the woman; she’s already circling back out of reach. “Oh. Sorry, not sorry. Was I meant to wait or something?”

Thor can only stare at her. “Yes?” Norns, but who doesn’t know _that_? He wipes the back of his hand across his chin and can’t stop his eyes from tracking to the, thankfully empty, cloisters around them. Apparently they truly are alone. He’s not sure ever live down being bloodied by a girl of no family.

His head’s snapped back again. His hands jump up ready to block; but it's a reaction coming too late. His eye tears up.

“Pay attention!” Friggadottir is circling him, eyes boring through his skull as though she can see right into his essence; can read his future there. “Life doesn’t wait while you mull things over, _child_.” There’s something fay to her movements; each less smooth and more brutal than any tender maiden should be capable of enacting.

Briefly Thor’s mind is filled with images of the Norns come to test a warrior’s spirit. Or of the fabled Valkyrie of old; those who could judge the honour of the dead. Weren’t they said to choose false names and move among the living? “Honour demands that I-“

“Honour?” She laughs. “You belittle my brother, then speak to me of honour?”

Ah. So, no metaphysical explanation then? Thor’s embarrassed and disappointed in equal and instantaneous amounts. It’s almost unbelievable that it’s only a perceived slight to _her brother_ from which her rage grows.

Holding his arms open beseechingly, Thor starts, “Fair maiden, if he had but-”

He gets no further. She fights like no one he’s ever met before. Fast and violent; apparently intent on the infliction of pain. Thor should be able to hold his own, truly he should. For his skill in combat is famed throughout the Nine Realms. Yet he finds himself being driven back before her onslaught like a green youth in his first bout. It is as though she knows his every move before he makes it and is stepping through a dance long since become familiar to her.

If it’s a dance for her, it’s one designed to punish him.

No, it doesn't ease his pride that their battle leaves her breathless and wild.

“Has no one taught you the importance of restraint? Don’t overreach.” He tries to regain control, but his own breath is coming short and, when Friggadottir replies, it’s with a grin more teeth than happiness. Her words are chilling for their implications:

“Unlike you, _I’ve_ actually done battle for my life. Restraint wins nothing.”

“What an unnatural and lawless realm you must hail from!” For what manner of healer treads across the churning and bloodying fields of war? Or what manner of warrior leaves at careless risk the one who could later tend to their torn flesh?

That earns him a smile; bright and poisoned. “You have no idea.” Aye, a smile and a ringing blow to his temple.

And this monster is one he’d let tend to his injured brother?

Even thinking of that harm suffered by Loki – harm he’d not even _noted_ inflicted against his younger brother ‘til others condemned it – is painful. His lack of care disgraces his love for Loki. For all that it’s too late to rectify the past, Thor is resolved to keep a closer eye on his brother, no matter how far he grows into manhood.

Yet why would Loki try to hide such things from him? For what reason would he not come to Thor for support and protection? Is this something Thor has somehow taught his brother? That he’s no man if he takes comfort? Even from his own flesh and blood?

Maybe Friggadottir is not the only monster in the room.

His attention is split by that. It’s just for a heartbeat, but, as Friggadottir has pointed out, life doesn’t wait on the slow. Thor finds himself falling. Instinctively his hand lashes out – if he’s going down, he’ll bring his opponent with him – before he remembers that there’s no dignity in upending a girl.

As he pulls her down on top of him, his fingers snag on something.

There’s nothing on her wrist. Truly, there is nothing Thor can see. Yet, all the same, his fingers have become entangled and, as he’s pushed backwards, there’s a snapping sensation.

Friggadottir wavers. Not that quaking of flesh seen in one about to faint, but a real, honest-to-goodness shimmer; a spell shattered, then hastily resurrected.

And, in the instant between the two, he spies a face he knows well, no matter how changed.

#

Loki’s tricked her brother many times. Can read the look of dawning recognition in his eyes that means she’s not been quite fast enough; he’s found her mischiefs out. Every shift of Thor’s face is familiar to her from a thousand earlier instances.

This time it lets her know that Thor’s spotted that momentary lapse while she strove to recover her broken illusion charm.

But today Thor doesn’t stop with recognition. No, this isn’t her tricks and taunts of old. As he must realise this, Thor’s face falls from understanding back into confusion, then – far, far too openly for Loki to feel comfortable looking upon – into comprehension and even horror.

Thor looks up at her, wide-eyed and distraught; a beautiful, innocent _child_ where she’d expected only her blind, foolish, elder brother. Strange how Loki has never seen what others do – her brother; trusting, honorable, perfect – ‘til now. All her life, Thor has been overbearing, loud, brash; his confidence in need of a severe reality check even as his bravado runs like a comforting wall between the tedium of events Loki can manipulate and the dangers she can not.

Now it seems that she’s torn – however inadvertently – at that idealism. Thor is awakening to a world in which he has become aware he lacks the sense to look for deeper truths, where his very judgement is suspect and he knows it…

She’d always thought such a revelation would be a relief. Instead it feels like she’s murdered someone beloved.

His grip on her wrist falters.

“Loki.”

That Thor is missing almost all of the pieces of the truth he needs to make an accurate guess at their situation is irrelevant. He’s clearly jumping to conclusions; ones that seem to trouble him.

Loki hates the sickly emptiness that lingers in her belly when rage fades. Looking at Thor, below her, she almost wishes she had, after all, taken that fury out on her own version of her brother. For then at least she’d be able to apologise. To bury her head in the lovely, warm spot between his shoulder and neck. To utter confessions too softly for him to truly make out. To know she would be forgiven.

_That_ Thor would never look at her as though she guards ghoulish secrets. Instead his fingers would sooth down the back of her neck; a touch more gentle than any she deserves. And maybe he’d turn, just a little, the movement of his jaw causing his beard to tickle pleasantly as he would press a soft kiss to her temple.

_This_ Thor is simply frozen; lost in his assumptions.

It’s horrible and Loki wants to break the moment. She’d lie to do so; it’s just that it seems futile in the face of Thor’s obvious knowing. So maybe she should pick some variant of the truth? She draws breath to do so.

And then Thor’s conclusions jump one step further. “If you’re an older Loki, then I’m…”

#

He’s still reeling; lost in the realization that apparently he grows up to be a coward. It is… unthinkable. The worst of nightmares come to life. For how can he possibly look mother in the eyes again upon her return from Vanaheim? How can he offer guidance to his brother and his friends and his people, when his spirit is that of a base-

“You need to learn to be gentler,” Loki-who-isn’t-his-brother says.

It’s hard to swallow his dignity when flat out on his back, this strange parody of Loki sitting on his chest. Nonetheless, Thor tries. It’s not the first time he’s been cautioned for his lack of restraint on the sparring grounds. Belatedly he realises that, in the heat of the moment, he’d stopped curbing his strikes. “I thought you were just telling me I needed to be more violent.”

He tries to sound chiding, but to his own ears his voice is shaken. Maybe even scared.

For if he’s somehow fallen so far in his honour that he won’t even walk with other warriors into the tournament sands and-

Oh, Norns! Forget not doing battle, he’d _wept_ in public and-

Friggadottir had said she’d nearly _died_ in battle; where had he-

Whatever had he _been doing_?

“Thor.” The voice is wrong yet, now that he’s listening for it, also familiar. Loki’s voice; just spoken in a different octave. “Thor, look at me.”

He tries. Guilt crushing his lungs. It’s an unfamiliar feeling and it makes it hard to meet her gaze. Now that Thor’s searching for it – _really_ searching – it’s obvious that they are his brother’s eyes. How had he missed that? How has he missed _everything_?

“Thor.” There’s a tenderness to her face that looks more of their mother than he can ever before remember seeing in his brother’s expression. “I’m not talking about being gentle with others.”

About being gentle with the real Loki then. About Thor’s failures towards his brother. Having unearthed one, Thor is certain he’ll find more. Maybe this whole time-travel endeavour, or whatever it may prove to be, is some punishment devised by this Loki of the future. A chance to mock Thor and, at the same time, a learning opportunity for him.

Well, then Thor will do his best to learn.

He wonders if Loki will want to get in another punch or two. Wonders when his baby-brother got so much stronger and faster. So much more violent.

To his surprise, when Loki slowly gets to her feet, all fighting is apparently now over. She holds out her hand. He hesitates to take it, but when he does, Loki pulls him to his feet; no tricks involved.

“Thor.” Her voice is oddly sincere. “I meant to you need to be kinder _to yourself_. You’re more than a battering ram, you know? It doesn’t all have to be about battle and war.” A hand smooths his sweaty hair back from his brow; fingertips gentle where they touch his bruised eye. “Please. Learn to forgive yourself. Promise me.”

Thor looks into this fragment of his future and tries to understand what it all means. Whether Loki’s words are simply a different type of farce. But if there’s something buried beneath the obvious, any other truth that he’s meant to have learned, it’s beyond Thor’s skills to discern. So instead he nods, slowly, “I’ll try.”

#

It takes Loki a long time to return to the guest room granted to the two ‘children of Frigga’.

Night has spilt into dawn, and all that time has been wasted in haunting the walls of Asgard. Loki has been caught, worrying over the uncertainty she’s inflicted upon her so-very-forthright brother. Maybe she should have said more to him? Should have found some way to ease the disquiet she’s seeded?

It’s just that Loki doesn’t know what to say, not to this youth from outside of her timeline. Not to make it better for Thor. Nor for the younger version of herself. Which, considering she prides herself on her cunning while mocking her brother for his simplicity, is more than a little alarming.

The lack of clarity stings at her more than her split lip, but it’s the physical hurt that sends her in search of healing herbs.

As dawn sends the day sailing into morning, Loki ventures into the public gardens; gathering herbs and seeds lost to the citizens of _their_ Asgard. For at least now she’ll have something to show for her lack of sleep. And something to lord over the Valkyrie when next they speak.

Yet, as she works, Loki acknowledges that she is, apparently, procrastinating; too ashamed of her actions towards his younger version to return to her brother. Hopefully Thor’s slept well. He needs to find some rest, elusive though it’s seemed since their arrival.

The tesseract always sings; it’s in it’s nature. But in some moments it sings louder. Why are those always the moments Loki’s most tempted to run?

Which is foolish. There is work to do. A library to raid. A people to save.

A future to build.

Loki dusts off her skirts and goes in search of her brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to write this story. It didn't fit with the viewpoint of “Keeping Score”. However, I _really_ wanted to show a little more of the fallout that Loki’s arrival has on a young Thor.


End file.
